


Nothing I Wouldn’t Do

by lolo313



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8764105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolo313/pseuds/lolo313
Summary: Scott fucked up. Stiles won't talk to him. So he asks everyone--except Stiles--for advice.OrWhen everyone knows, but Scott.





	

 

“I think I fucked up.” Scott leaned against the wall of lockers as Lydia plucked her math textbook from off its shelf. “Like, big time.”

“As thrilling as a guessing game would be,” Lydia shut her locker and fixed Scott with her best _I’m trying to be patient_ smile, “class starts in five so you better cut to the chase.”

            “It’s Stiles.” Scott followed Lydia as she headed towards class.

            “Of course it is. What’d you do this time? Lose one of his video games? Forget a movie date?”

            “That’s the thing.” Scott hurried to step in front of Lydia. “I don’t know what I did, but he hasn’t spoken to me for two days.”

Lydia corked her head to the side. “I saw you talking to him this morning.”

            “Well, yeah, he asked for my algebra notes.”

Lydia furrowed her brow. “So he is talking to you?”

            “Okay, I guess, but not _talking_ -talking.”

Lydia sighed and shifted her weight to her other foot, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “Is that a euphemism or…?”

            “A eupha-what?”

            “Never mind.” Lydia shook her head and stepped around Scott. “Look, I’m sure whatever it is, you two will work through it. You always do.”

            “But normally I know what I’ve done wrong.” Scott slid into the doorway of the classroom, blocking Lydia’s path. “This time feels different.”

Lydia tapped her feet.“So what do you want me to do about it?”

            Scott pulled out his best puppy-dog grin and lowered his eyes so he looked at Lydia through his lashes. “I was hoping you could maybe talk to him?”

            “Uh-huh. Nope. Not going to happen.” Lydia tried to push past Scott.

            “But why not?”

            “Because I am not getting in the middle of this. Besides, what good would me talking to him do?” Lydia tugged on Scott’s arm, but he didn’t budge.

            “Stiles has been in love with you since the third grade, he’ll open up to you.”

Lydia took a step back and stared wide-eyed at Scott. “You still think…? Oh, no,” Lydia shook her head vigorously, “there is definitely no way I’m getting involved in this.”

            “I’ll do your econ homework!”

            “You’re failing econ.”

            “I’ll give you a ride anytime you need!”

            “I have my own car.”

            The bell rang and Lydia managed to slip under Scott’s arm. He spun round grabbed her shoulder.

            “Please.”

            Regretting it instantly, Lydia felt the walls of her determination crumble. “Fine.”

            Scott beamed as he clasped her shoulders and nearly _whooped_ for joy. “Thank you thank you thank you than—”

            “Okay! I said I’d do it. Now shoo.”

            And though he was late to class, and Coach said he’d start practice by running laps, Scott couldn’t help the spring in his step as things started to turn around.

 

            Things did not turn around.

            Though he would have preferred to find Lydia right after class ended, he figured one period might not be enough time for her to locate Stiles and talk to him. But two certainly was. So as the bell rang for lunch, instead of heading to the cafeteria, Scott cut across the school, took the stairs in the stairwell two at a time, and managed to catch Lydia just as she came out of the bathroom.

            “Jesus! Scott! Are you trying to kill me?”

            “I don’t know, is it a full-moon?” Lydia rolled her eyes and started to stalk off, but Scott hurried to catch her. “Joke, joke, sorry, not funny. So?”

            “So what?”

            “Did you talk to Stiles?”

            “Scott, you asked me less than two hours ago.”

            “…and?”

            Lydia patted his arm and shook her head. “And you were right. You fucked up. Big time.”

            Try as he might, Scott could get no more out of Lydia. Though he hounded her through the halls, she remained tight-lipped and eventually managed to give him the slip somewhere between the second and first floor. With little else to do, Scott went to lunch.

            The din of voices slammed into Scott like a wall as soon as he opened the cafeteria doors. A hundred smells blended together—tuna and ham and peanut butter, microwaved pizza and chips so crisp he tasted the salt on his lips. Scott took a deep breath, ignored the rumbling in his stomach, and focused. The noise faded into an innocuous background. He opened his eyes and scanned the crowd for faces. No Lydia, unsurprisingly, and—his heart sank—no Stiles. He did, however, spot Allison, seated alone at a table in the far corner, a book sprawled open in front of her.

            “Hey,” Scott saddled up to her table and pulled out the chair across from her, “is this taken?”

            “No.” Allison smiled in that way that not only managed to light up a room but somehow feel as if it were meant specially for you. “Aren’t you hungry?” Scott had neglected to bring lunch. He slung his bag off his shoulder and onto the table as he sat.

            “Starving.” He grabbed the half of sandwich off Allison’s tray and stuffed it into his mouth. The muffled moan that escaped sounded more carnal than digestive. As he swallowed the last bite, he caught Allison’s eye. “Oh, shit, wait, were you offering me some or—”

            “It’s fine,” Allison shook off his worry, “I’m full anyway.”

            “Well, in that case.” Scott grabbed her apple and cracked his teeth into it. “What’re you reading?”

            “Just doing some research on demons, just in case.”

            “It pays to be prepared.”

            “In this town?” Allison shut the book and slid it into her bag. “That’s an understatement. Have you seen Stiles? I asked him to print out something for me, but he still hasn’t got back to me.”

            “Wait so Stiles isn’t talking to you either?” Scott leaned forward, his elbows pressed onto the table, his hunger and half-eaten apple forgotten.

            “…no, we spoke yesterday. I figured it’d just slipped his mind, cause, you know—” Allison waved her hand in a noncommittal gesture “—Stiles.” Scott slumped back against his chair and slid down. “Why, is Stiles not talking to you?” Scott shook his head, not bothering to look up. “What’d you do?”

            “I didn’t do anything! At least,” Scott fidgeted in his seat, “I don’t think I did.”

            “Have you asked him what’s wrong?”

            “I tried, but he won’t respond to any of my texts.”

Allison sighed and brushed her hair behind an ear. “Okay, but have you tried _talking_ to him?” Scott glanced up sheepishly, dropped his eyes, and shook his head. “When did you notice something was wrong?”

            “Yesterday. Stiles always comes over on Wednesdays to do homework and watch TV.”

            “And yesterday he didn’t?”

            “He said he was busy.”

            “Scott,” Allison reached out a hand and laid it on Scott’s, “that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

            “When does Stiles ever say he’s too busy to hang out?”

Allison thought for a second, sucked her teeth, and withdrew her hand.“Okay, so maybe something is up.”

            “See!” Scott leaned out onto the table again. “But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

            “Do you remember when we were dating and you took me to the mall? We had Chinese in the food court?”

            “Yeah. We got in a fight on the drive back and you didn’t talk to me for three days.”

Allison nodded.“Exactly. And do you know why I was upset?”

            “You wouldn’t tell me.”

            “You didn’t ask.” Allison stood and grabbed her bag. “Talk to Stiles. I’m sure whatever it is, you’ll work through it.” She picked up her tray and walked towards the trashcans.

            “Wait!” Scott reached out and caught her elbow. She turned. “What did I do?”

            “You spent the whole time staring at the guy working at Jamba Juice instead of me.” She dumped her trash, dropped off her tray, and laid a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Talk to Stiles.”

            Scott watched her walk out, though his attention was elsewhere. In his mind he replayed the date with Allison, snippets of banter coming back to him, the smell of general Tso’s chicken, the chill between them on the ride home. And yes, the Jamba Juice guy. Scott had noticed him even before they’d sat down—there’d been something about him that had put Scott’s nerves on edge. To be fair, it’d been kanima season, and Scott was almost always on edge, but something about him in particular raised the hair on the back of Scott’s neck. A shifty, snake-like quality, though in retrospect this might simply have been his eczema. Scott might have been a bit more pre-occupied than was warranted, especially since they’d already figured out it was Jackson, but this was Beacon Hills, and _two_ kanimas wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen that week.

            Still, Scott realized the point Allison had been trying to make—he must have neglected Stiles in some way the last time they hung out. He thought back to Sunday, running through the details, yet nothing seemed out of place. Stiles had come over around noon, they’d rewatched last week’s episode of Game of Thrones, they’d played Xbox for a few hours, ordered pizza, made a semblance of doing school work when his mom came to check on them before going to work…what was Scott missing?

            The bell rang overhead, and a herd the students stood, dumped their trays and left the cafeteria. Scott ignored the rumbling in his stomach, grabbed his bag, and headed to class. He sat in his usual seat, pulling out a notebook and pen, which he tapped unrhythmically against the side of the desk. When Stiles walked in he sat up, craning his neck to catch his eye, but instead of sitting beside Scott as he normally did, Stiles took a seat at the front of the class. He opened his textbook and bent over it, refusing to turn round and look at Scott. Isaac took the seat in front of Scott, but he couldn’t even muster the energy to look up.

            “Did I miss something?” Isaac twisted in his seat to stare at the top of Scott’s head.

            “I fucked up.” Scott didn’t so much as talk to Isaac as talk into his chest, but werewolf ears still managed.

            “I mean, obviously.” Isaac gestured to Stiles, who had yet to look up from his desk. “But how?”

            “I don’t know!” Scott slumped forward, burying his face in his arms. “I must have done something on Sunday but I don’t know what.”

            “I’m sure this will sound silly,” Isaac tossed a look to Stiles over his shoulder, “but have you tried asking him?”

            “I asked Lydia to.” Scott peeked up from his arm fortress of solitude to catch Isaac’s narrow-eyed glare.

            “Does being an alpha make you dumb or is that just part of the McCall charm?”

            “At least I’m trying!”

            “No,” Isaac leaned down and Scott could feel his breath against his ear, “you’re scapegoating. You’re looking for an easy way out. What you’re doing is telling Stiles,” Isaac looked back, “that you don’t want to deal with his shit.” Scott groaned and banged his head on his desk.

            “So what do I do?”

            “Talk to him. Not through Lydia, not,” Isaac snatched Scott’s phone, “text, _talk_ to him. The sooner the better, so you can put all of us out of our misery.”

            Class passed as a low, background buzz. Scott failed to absorb anything the teacher said, not that he really tried. He spent most of the hour staring at the back of Stiles’ head, willing him to look up, to turn around, to notice him. All to no avail. Stiles bounded out of his seat before the bell even rang, and by the time Scott skidded out into the hallway he’d lost him among the sea of bobbing heads.

            Scott’s day blurred into a haze until he felt like an extra in a Peanut’s cartoon. Twice he got called on in class and could only gape open-mouthed at his teacher. It was all he could do to avoid detention, and this was due largely to his ability to talk Coach into running laps before and _after_ practice in lieu of a more traditional consequence. By the time the final bell rang Scott felt emotionally drained and had probably developed a crick in his neck by looking over his shoulder for Stiles every three minutes. If Scott hadn’t been so thoroughly convinced of Stiles’ humanity, he’d have bet his bottom dollar that he’s suddenly learned how to turn invisible. Nor could he find him in the locker room. When Scott jogged out onto the field, he spotted Stiles practicing goalie. Scott beelined across the pitch, but the piercing shrill of Coach’s whistle pulled him up short.

            “McCall!” Coach whipped a finger round in a circle. “Laps!”

            Scott thought he caught Stiles staring, but this could have been nothing more than wishful thinking. He fell into a steady gait as he lapped the field, careful not to take his eyes off Stiles, running passing drills. Diverted as his attention was, Scott didn’t notice how he was steadily gaining on Ethan and Danny until he collided with their backs.

            “Woah!” Danny reached an arm out to steady Scott, who stumbled but managed to regain his footing.

            “Little distracted there, Scott?” Ethan followed Scott’s gaze across the field. He clapped a hand on the alpha’s back and stepped to make room for him between them. “Trouble in paradise?”

            “Paradise?” Scott looked about, assuring himself that they were, in fact, still on the lacrosse field at school. “This is Beacon Hills…”

            “What he means,” Danny said, “is what’s up with you and Stiles? You two have been off the last couple of days.”

            “I pissed him off the last time we hung out…I think. It’s my current working theory.”

            “Okay. So what’d you do?”

            “Nothing! I mean, I don’t know.”

            “Sure you don’t.” Ethan spun and started to jog backwards. He winked at Danny. “Scott McCall can do no wrong. Which is why he’s running laps before practice.”

            “I didn’t say that. Besides, you’re running laps too. Wait…why _are_ you running laps?”

            “Inappropriate use of school facilities.” Scott quirked an eyebrow at Ethan, then at Danny.

            “Coach caught us in the showers. We got off easy.”

            “You sure did.” Ethan turned back around and nudged Danny’s shoulder with his own.

            “Can we focus on my problem, please?”

            “What do you want us to do?” Ethan nodded his chin towards Stiles. “Figure out what you did wrong and apologize. Simple as that.”

            “That’s the problem, I don’t know what I did. I keep going over it in my head and nothing seems out of place.”

            “Okay, well, walk us through it.” Danny slowed half a step and moved to Scott’s side, so he flanked him. “You’re too close to it. Maybe we can notice something you missed. When did you say you saw him last?”

            “He came over on Sunday. We played some video games, we did some work, we ordered pizza. Regular stuff.”

            “What kind of pizza?” Ethan leaned in close enough for Scott to feel his breath pant against his ear. “Stuffed crust?”

            “How are you able to make pizza dirty?” Danny quirked a not totally disapproving eyebrow.

            “It’s a gift. But seriously, what kind?”

            “Sausage and mushroom.”

            “Who got to pick the toppings?”

            “I did. I always do.”

            “Do you think maybe,” Danny asked, “Stiles resents never getting to choose the pizza toppings?”

            “Stiles is a human garbage disposal.” Ethan shook his head. “He’ll eat anything. Even pineapple pizza. Who picked the video games?”

            “Stiles.”

            “And who won?”

            “Stiles.”

            Ethan and Danny sighed and shared a look. Scott worried that his case was utterly hopeless. They plowed on.

            “Okay, after video games, after pizza—then what?”

            “We studied.” Ethan fixed him with a look. “Sorta. I mean, like we always do.”

            “And then?”

            “Then Stiles had to go home. He packed up his stuff, we wrestled, and he left.” Ethan and Danny pulled up short, and Scott continued to jog for a few feet before he noticed they’d stopped. He back pedaled to join them. “What?”

            “You wrestled?” Something in Ethan’s voice sounded off, but Scott couldn’t say what.

            “Yeah. Not fought, just rough housed. We do it all the time.”

            “And who won?” Danny looked up at Scott from where he bent, hands on knees, catching his breath.

            “I did. I always do, on account of—” Scott made a face at Ethan “—you know.”

            “ _Right_. So you pinned him on the ground—”

            “On the bed.” Ethan and Danny shared another look and Scott was beginning to feel left out.

            “—on the bed. So you’ve got him pinned. And then what?” Danny and Ethan huddled closer, leaning in in anticipation.

            “Then my phone rang. It was Derek with important…” Scott eyed Danny. “…veterinary business. By the time I got off the phone Stiles had left.” They deflated, crestfallen, but sudden realization dawned on Scott. “Wait, that’s it! Allison said she got upset when I ignored her on dates.”

            “What does Allison have to do with this?” Ethan asked, but Scott ignored him.

            “Stiles must be pissed that I got distracted while we were hanging out.” Scott gripped Ethan and Danny’s shoulders. “You guys are geniuses, I owe you one!” As Scott bounded off across the field, Danny turned to his boyfriend.

            “Are you going to tell him?”

            “No,” Ethan said, “I think he needs to figure it out on his own.”

 

            “Stiles. Stiles!”

            Stiles turned to watch Scott cut across the field. He rolled his lacrosse stick in his hand as Scott stopped and sucked in lungfuls of air. He could not help but notice the sheen of sweat on his brow.

            “What do you want Scott?”

            “I want to say I’m sorry.” Scott straightened and placed a hand on Stiles’ arm. His skin felt warmed by the sun and the exertion of the game. Stiles held his gaze, and something twinkled in his eye. “About Sunday. I shouldn’t have ignored you, and I’m sorry that I did.” Whatever brightness Scott had spied on Stiles’ face suddenly died and was extinguished.

            “Whatever.” Stiles shrugged off Scott’s hand and bent to scoop a lacrosse ball into his net. “Forget about it.”

            “I can’t.” Scott grabbed Stiles’ wrist to still him. “Come over tonight. My mom’s working a double, we can order Chinese.” Scott ducked his head to catch Stiles’ eye. “Please.”

            “Fine.” Stiles pulled his wrist free as Coach’s whistle pierced the stagnant afternoon air.

            “Everyone, in position, passing drills!”

            Scott didn’t give his A-game, but one advantage of werewolf powers was that his C or even D-game still put him head and shoulders over most of his teammates. As such, he avoided most of Coach’s ire, though he could not shake the persistent weight of Ethan and Danny’s eyes upon him. He felt watched. Stiles dodged him, pairing up with Greenberg, of all people, and choosing always to veer off to a different section of the field whenever they strayed too close together. Despite the lukewarm reception, the fact that Stiles had accepted his invitation thrilled and enlightened Scott. He knew that once he got him alone, once he’d sat him down and _explained_ , then everything would revert back to normal.

So it was with sweaty satisfaction that Scott dashed to the locker room as soon as Coach signaled the end of practice. Shedding his equipment, Scott grabbed his bag to check his phone. Four missed calls from Derek. Scott swore silently. Not bothering to change, he grabbed his things and made for the door, colliding directly with Stiles.

“Dude.”

“Sorry, sorry! Look, just, come over in an hour, okay? I have to take care of something first, then I’m all yours, I swear.” Scott did not wait for a response, but sped out and hopped on his bike.

The drive to Derek’s took twenty minutes, given normal traffic conditions. Scott made it in twelve. Through ample throttle and liberal use of the sidewalk, not to mention a near collision with an old woman walking her dog, Scott shaved off precious seconds from his time, and possibly his life. He bounded up the stairs to Derek’s loft, two at a time, till he panted, out of breath, and pounded at the metal door. Scott nearly collapsed into Derek’s arm when he slid the door open.

“Did you run over roadkill?” Derek wrinkled his nose as he stepped aside to let Scott enter.

“I came right from practice, I didn’t shower.”

“Evidently. I could smell you from across the block. I thought a sewer pipe had burst.”

Scott lifted an arm and sniff exploratorily at his underarm.

“It’s not that bad.”

“Yeah,” Derek grimaced, “it is.”

“Whatever, look, I don’t know what’s going on, but whatever it is, handle it on your own.” Scott turned, grabbed the handle, began to slide the door open, till a muscular arm shot out, holding it shut.

“I don’t know if you’ve realized how this alpha thing works, but you don’t really get to check out when it’s convenient for you.”

Derek crossed his arms across his chest, waiting. Scott balled his hands into fists, rounding on Derek, nearly shouting.

“I have my own shit to deal with, okay? I’m not bailing on,” Scott flailed wildly, taking in himself, Derek, all of Beacon Hills, “ _this_. I’m not. I just. I just can’t right now.”

“Scott.” Derek laid a hand on Scott’s shoulder. It felt heavy, and beneath its weight Scott felt himself deflate, the anger rushing out of him to be replaced with a bone deep weariness. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t even know. It’s probably me. I just can’t give everything the attention it deserves.”

“Why do I have a feeling this isn’t about homework?” Scott peered up through his lashes all hurt puppy dog, and Derek regretted asking. He sighed. “What happened?”

“I think…I don’t think I’ve been paying enough attention to Stiles. And he’s pissed off.”

“When was the last time you…?” Derek trailed off, rolling circles with his wrist expectantly.

“Last Sunday.”

            “What?” Derek scoffed. “Stilinski can’t go a few days without getting grumpy?”

            “I mean, we were supposed to on Wednesday,” Scott hurried to explain, “but he never came. You know, this is your fault.”

            Derek took a step back, holding up a hand between them. “Woah, now hold on. I never touched Stiles. He’s far too scrawny for my tastes.”

            Scott screwed up his face in that particular contortion that meant deep thinking and utter miscomprehension. “What? No, when you called on Sunday. I shouldn’t have picked up, not while I was with Stiles.”

            “You mean to tell me that you were…while we were on the phone?” If Derek’s eyebrows arched any further together, they’d blend entirely into his hairline. Scott should have found this amusing, but most of his mental faculties were focused on wondering why the fact Scott picked up his call while hanging with Stiles seemed so disturbing to Derek.

            “Well, at the start. But by the time we got off he was gone. And he hasn’t come over to hang out since and he’s barely spoken to me.” A wave of understanding suddenly washed over Derek. He chuckled, shaking his head, which just made Scott feel like he was being laughed at. “Look this is serious, okay? He’s my best friend, and I’m really worried that I fucked things up between us.” Derek fixed him with his maddening _I-am-so-much-older-and-wiser-than-you_ look.

            “Do you remember the first thing I thought you about being a werewolf?”

            “Not to kill people?”

Derek rolled his eyes but pressed onward. “About your senses. How to use them.”

            “Why is it every time you tell me to trust my senses, there’s something you know that I don’t.”

            “Cause I’m better at you than this. And I pay attention. Which you should do more of. Especially with Stiles.”

            Stiles’ name rang in Scott’s mind like a bell. He checked his watch. “Shit! Stiles! I’m late!” Scott tore from Derek’s apartment, bounded down the stairs, hopped on his bike, and sped away. Derek watched him from the window, smiling to himself. He fished his phone out of his back pocket, holding it to his ear.

            “Hey, Peter? You owe me ten bucks.”

 

            If Scott had broken traffic laws in order to get to Derek’s quicker, now he broke the laws of physics. It should have been impossible to cover the distance in the time he did, but that just goes to show one should never underestimate a determined alpha. He nearly collided with the porch as he skidded into and off of the driveway, not even bothering to park his bike but letting it flop onto the ground. Stiles’ jeep sat idle, the engine gone cold. Scott burst through the front door.

            “I’m here!” His shout reverberated through the near empty house. “I know I’m late, I’m such a fuck-up, I’m sorry—” Scott panted as he bounded up the stairs, sliding down the hallway to his bedroom, the door of which gaped ajar. Scott clutched at the frame as he tried to catch his breath.

            “It’s fine.” Stiles sat on the edge of Scott’s bed, tossing a lacrosse ball between his hands. “I didn’t wait that long.” He stood, setting the ball down on the bed as he bent to pick up his bag. Shouldering it, he moved to squeeze past Scott. “I should be going though.”

            “Don’t.” Scott grabbed Stiles’ arm. Not hard. Just enough to feel the muscle tense beneath his grasp. “Please.” Stiles sighed, let his bag slip from his shoulder, and drifted back to Scott’s bed. Scott sat down beside him. The mattress dipped beneath their combined weigh. Their knees knocked together lightly. Stiles shifted away, till his back rested against the headboard. He pulled a pillow across his lap. “I wanted to apologize.” Scott paused, waiting for Stiles to say something, ask what for, or accept his sincerity, but he remained mute. Scott began worrying a loose thread on the comforter. “I know maybe I wasn’t the most attentive I could have been last time we hung out.” Scott darted a glance at Stiles, trying to gauge his reaction, but his blank face betrayed nothing. “Derek kept texting me, and then when he called I figured it must have been important. I’m not trying to make excuses. You’re important to me, Stiles, and my actions should reflect that. You’re my best friend.” Scott reached out, capped his hand over Stiles’ knee. “I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

            A sudden, pungent tang spiked the air. Scott’s heart began to race as his nose wrinkled. A strange warmth coursed through his blood. He sniffed experimentally. Stiles curled his legs beneath his body, and Scott allowed his hand to drop away.

            “Is that it?” Stiles wouldn’t look at Scott, instead stared off out the window. As quickly as it appeared, the scent dried up, leaving Scott snuffling at nothing. He shook his head, looked up at Stiles.

            “Y-yeah?”

            “Well, good to know I’m your friend.” Stiles stood, and the bedsprings groaned as they stretched. “That’s something, at least.” Stiles scooped up his bag and made to leave.

            Something in Scott _snarled_. He sprang from the bed, moving faster than a man should. His hand whipped out, gripping the door and slamming it shut. Startled, Stiles spun, dropping his bag, his back colliding with the solid wood. He tried to slip free, but Scott penned him in, arms bracketing his sides. Their faces hovered inches apart. Scott’s eyes glowed.

            “If you’re about to wolf out on me, at least let me text my dad goodbye.”

            “Stop it!” Scott’s voice came out as a growl. “Stop avoiding the subject, stop avoiding me. I’m trying, Stiles, I’m trying really fucking hard. I’ve been running around all day, trying to figure out what to do. You wouldn’t talk to Lydia. You won’t talk to me. Please, just…” Scott’s strength left him. His arms trailed down the wall to wrap around Stiles. He pulled him in, hugging his body close. “Just talk to me, Stiles. Don’t shut me out.”

            “Scott…I—”

            And there it was, that musk, the tangible shift in the air. Scott lifted his face, sniffed. He caught Stiles’ gaze.

            “It’s you.” Scott leaned in, gave Stiles’ hair, the side of his neck, an exploratory sniff. "Something’s different.” Scott kept sniffing, working over Stiles’ shoulders and down his chest, nuzzling his face beneath Stiles’ arms.

            “Dude, okay, what the fuck are you—”

            Scott sank to his knees. He hovered his face over Stiles’ stomach, his nose inches from the fabric of his shirt. He inhaled deep, rapid breaths. Lower still, till his eyes were level with the band of Stiles’ jeans. Heat rolled off of him, the scent heavy and pungent. It drove Scott mad, not only because he had smelled it before, not just the frustration of its significance eluding him. No, something in him reacted to the scent. His blood thrilled.

Stiles gripped his shoulders, tried to push him back. Scott felt his fingernails bite into him through his shirt. But he refused to be moved. He held Stiles’ hips hard enough to still him, inhaled again. _Last Sunday. Wrestling. Stiles pinned beneath him. The wave of musk rolling off him_. A part of Scott not entirely human took over. His eyes flashed red as he buried his face in Stiles’ jean-clad crotch. He breathed deep. Beneath his clothes, Stiles stirred.

“It’s arousal.” Scott mouthed the words into Stiles, his lips ghosting over the growing stiffness. Unsure if he’d been heard, he lifted his head, stared into Stiles downcast, stricken face. “It’s arousal.”

“Scott…Scotty, I…” Stiles stammered, lost for words. Scott watched his throat bob. He stood, but did not back up. Scott felt the heat of Stiles’ body, inches from his own.

“What did you think I would say?” Scott’s voice was low, almost a whisper, but hoarser. Throaty. Closer to a growl. Stiles’ fingers twitched. His mouth hung open, empty and dumb. Scott gripped Stiles’ head, held his face steady and level with his own. “What did you think I would do?” Stiles closed his mouth, but did not turn away. Stared back into Scott.

Their mouths knock together, rough and inelegant. Its tongue and teeth until they find themselves. Then its lips and biting and the soft, petulant moans breathed into the other’s mouth. Scott swallows them all. At first he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, is worried he’ll squeeze too hard. But then his fingers wind into the thicket of Stiles’ hair, grip at his throat. What little distance remained disappears. Their bodies press hungry into each other. Scott’s head swims with the heady scent of Stiles. He growls as Stiles grinds his hips into Scott’s. Stiles digs his nails into Scott’s back, twisting, clutching, making their way down to grab his ass, pull him closer. Stiles’ tongue dips into the hollow of his ear.

“Scott, oh fuck, Scotty.”

An electric chill shivers down his spine. He bites as the curve of Stiles’ neck where it meets shoulder. Suckles, drawing blood to the surface. Stiles’ moans climb in octaves as his lips smack wet against his enflamed flesh. He snakes a hand beneath Stiles’ t-shirt. His skin is hot, almost feverish. His stomach crests and falls with heavy breaths. He rubs a thumb over a nipple and Stiles arches off the door, begging.

“Please. Scotty, _please_.”

“Please what?” Stiles whines, puffs out his lower lip. Scott takes it between his teeth, sucks it into his mouth, kisses him hard. Their tongues glide over each other. Scott swallows the taste of him. Scott pinches, teases, elicits a throaty moan against his neck. Stiles quakes beneath his touch. Scott presses his cock against Stiles’ thigh. Rubs. Relishes the delicious friction. He wants desperately to rip into him, tear his clothes, sink his teeth into his flesh. Scott is more animal than man.

“ _Fuck_ , Scotty, I—” Scott covers Stiles’ mouth with his own, swallows his words. He grabs Stiles’ hips, spins him so his chest is flush against the door. He reaches round for the button of his jeans, fumbles, grows frustrated. He digs his hands into Stiles’ waistline, grips, tears the jeans clean off his body. “Scott, what the fuck, those were my favorite—” But Scott presses into Stiles, flattens him against the door, growls, lips inches from his ear. He pins Stiles’ wrists above his head, one handed, the other working quick at his own zipper. His cock bounces free, red and tumescent. He set it against the round curve of Stiles’ ass, his precum wetting the taunt fabric of his underwear. He digs between his cheeks, seeking, the head of his cock pressed against the tight coil of Stiles’ hole. “That can’t be your dick.”

Scott pauses, looks down at his cock, then the back of Stiles’ head. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s _massive_. What, did your dick get bitten by a werewolf too?”

“I think your full moon is to blame.” Scott smacks a hand on Stiles’ ass and tugs down his underwear to mid-thigh. He slots his cock in between Stiles’ cheeks, spits, and starts gliding back and worth, riding the ridge of Stiles’ ass. Scott’s grip tightens, the muscles of his thighs and ass tense as he adjusts his footing. “ _Fuck_.”

His breath comes in hot puffs against the nape of Stiles’ neck. Stiles wiggles and grinds his hips backwards, moving his ass against Scott’s cock. His fingernails dig into the grain of the wood, chip the paint, but he doesn’t ask Scott to stop, doesn’t protest his grip. Scott spits into the palm of his hand, wets his fingers, and grabs Stiles’ cock. It’s stout, thick, and hot to the touch. The head is slick; Scott rubs a thumb over his slit. Stiles moans, nearly barks, bucking his hips back. Scott braces, holds himself still, allows Stiles to fuck his hand as his ass glides along his cock.

His heart beats madness in his chest and his pulse soars. His throat tightens as his muscles tense. His balls constrict, contract, and he holds Stiles’ wrists so hard he worries he’ll hurt him. A strangled, almost gargle burst from his lips as he comes over Stiles’ ass and lower back. Milky against his skin, Scott watches it drip slowly down Stiles’ crack, drippling back onto his own cock.

“Fuck, Scott, _fuckfuckfuck_!” Stiles bucks, erratic, frantic, a madman, and then something sticky and hot spills over Scott’s fingers, coats his palms, drips down onto the carpet. Stiles nearly crumbles, his knees buckled and weak, but Scott catches him in time. He half-carries, half-drags him back onto the bed. Lies down first, drapes Stiles over his chest. Their breathing labored, Scott watches Stiles’ body rise and fall with each breath. Stiles nuzzles against Scott’s shoulder, buries his face in the crook of his neck. Scott wipes his hand on the bedspread, hugs Stiles closer, wraps a leg around him. Holds him in place.

Eventually, their hearts settled, their breathing slowed and evened out. Scott drew lazy designs across Stiles’ back. His eyes grew heavy and it was with great effort that he kept them open. He let his fingers curl into Stiles’ hair.

“I wanted to tell you.” Stiles’ breath tickled Scott’s nipple, warm and soft. Scott blinked away his almost-slumber.

“Why didn’t you?” Scott felt more than saw Stiles shrug.

“How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with him? Your presumably _straight_ best friend?”

“Did you think I’d be upset?” Worry edged into Scott’s voice. Even if the real issue hadn’t been what he’d thought, Scott wondered if perhaps he had been negligent of his friend, enough for him to doubt who he was.

“No. I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t think you’d do—” Stiles waved a hand over their enjoined bodies “— _this_. I just…I didn’t want to lose you, you know? I didn’t want you to pull away. Not cause you’d be disgusted or anything, I see the way you treat Danny and Ethan. But to save me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured to give me something you couldn’t. And I didn’t want you thinking that if you couldn’t want me the way I wanted you then it’d be better to step back. Remove the temptation. Give me space, or whatever. I didn’t want to become another burden.”

“You’re never a burden, Stiles. You’re…you’re my best friend.” Scott wrapped both arms around Stiles’ back and hugged him close. A quiet moment stretched out between them. The holder and the held.

“Well, I’m hoping to be a little more than that now.” Scott didn’t have to possess werewolf senses to hear the relief breaking through Stiles’ voice. “But dude, don’t send Lydia to do your dirty work.”

“You wouldn’t talk to me! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Not send Lydia. Send anyone else. But Lydia?”

“What’s wrong with Lydia?”

“She offered to let me buy her lunch if I told her what was wrong.”

“Why wouldn’t that work?” Stiles arched an unbelieving eyebrow. “Oh. Right. Well, that was before I had all the facts. I did my best.”

Stiles propped himself up on one elbow and fixed Scott with a look. His lips pursed together, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Something sparkled in his eyes as he leaned in and kissed Scott, soft and gentle, before laying his head back down on his chest.

“Yeah you did, Scott. You always do.”


End file.
